


Captain Pan Tumblr. One-Shots

by fuckyeahcaptainpan (ChipmunkCharles)



Series: Captain Pan One-Shots [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Fluff, Sex Dreams, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipmunkCharles/pseuds/fuckyeahcaptainpan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Multible one-shots prompted to me on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Prompt:** Killian has sex dream of Pan and he knows.

* * *

* * *

The man falls back onto the bed; eyes squeezed shut as he tries to force the dream from his memory. The dream of Pan bare and striking as he climbed on top of Killian, a wicked smirk spread across his face. The dream of Pan with his red, moist lips wrapped around his— Killian shakes his head rapidly as the tightness in his lower abdomen begins to swell from the memory.

It’s not too long though before the dream clogs his mind again. But this time, Killian closes his sapphire jewels and lets the visions guide his right hand under the sheets. He pictures Pan again standing stark in front of him.

He pictures Pan on top; his body pressed against his own. He pictures Pan’s demon eyes staring into his as their hips meet each other in rapid, rhythmic thrusts, as their lips touch with a searing lust, as he groans from the tightness of his lower body.

Killian’s legs begin to twitch as the pressure in his groin builds higher and higher, as his back arches higher and higher. Then he falls, with a loud cry and a white liquid dispersing over his midriff.

The man brings an arm to his forehead relaxing his body in the aftermath. His skin’s now covered in sweat, his heart racing like a horse, and his breaths slow and drawn out.

Glancing around the quarters for an old shirt or hanky he freezes.Hidden in the darkest corner of the room he spots two emeralds reflecting in the moonlight, and as the boat shifts he sees a smirk and he knows.

_He knows that Pan knows of the dream._


	2. I Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Captain Pan proposal.

Killian constantly felt Peter in his veins, burrowing and swimming. His sticky cheek’s pressed into Killian’s chest, their fingers intertwined.The glow of the early morning sunlight illuminating his elfin features, making his hair shine gold, and tanning his light skin. To Killian it was the most breathtaking sight he’s ever seen, and when his dewy emerald eyes popped open glittering more and more with each blink the meaning of the word grew tenfold.

“You’re  _beautiful_.” Peter blushed moving himself away from Killian, stretching his arms over his head. The man couldn’t help but smile turning on his side so he could admire his sunbathed physique some more. “You really are  _beautiful_ , Peter.”

The boy bites his lip flashing his top teeth in a half smile, “You’re beautiful too, Killian.”

The man chuckles closing his eyes momentarily at the remark. “Yes, but,” he grabs Peter by the waist pulling him tightly to his breast, “I am nothing compared to you.”

The boy grins pressing their lips together in a sweet, passionate kiss, “I love you, Killian.” The man’s eyes widen a tad, this was the first time the boy’s said it first and it made his heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings.

He brought his fingers to the boy’s cheeks grazing his knuckles over the smooth skin, “I love you too, Peter.” Their lips reconnect,  this time in a blazing, concupiscent heat. Their tongues battling in one another’s mouth until the boy won pulling away at his victory.

Peter removed himself from the sheets, naked hips exaggeratedly swaggering side to side. Killian sighs when the bathroom door closes cutting off his view. He rests a forearm over his eyes beaming uncontrollably at the ceiling; the fact the boy said words of love first frying his brain.

Killian covers his grin with his hands. He’s always been the one to say I love you first, and the experience of Peter doing so sent a shock wave to the deepest depths of his core.

The boy quickly returns climbing back between the white sheets. He lies on his stomach head resting on his arms as he watches his lover, “You know it’s Saturday, right? Nowhere to go, no places to be; just you and me all day.” His eyebrows arch in a seductive manor urging the man closer.

Killian moves to hover over the boy. He uses his elbows as props so as not to crush Peter’s fragile fame.

“I love you,” he murmurs placing pecks onto his shoulder blades. “I love you,” his nape. “I love you,” his spine. “I love you,” his ribs. “I love you,” his pelvis. “I love you,” the top of his natal cleft.

All Peter does is sigh and relish in the feeling of his words and actions, eyes closed, breaths carefully labored.  He feels at peace when he’s with this man like he can let his walls down for the first time in his life.

“I love you.” The second confession made Killian’s heart stop. He had to press his face into the boy’s lower spine to keep a slight girlish squeal from passing his lips. “I love you.”

Killian rolls onto his back smothering his face with a pillow to control his breathing and his insuppressible Cheshire grin.

The boy frowned though shifting uncomfortably to his side, “Did I say something wrong?”

Killian snapped the pillow away, eyes wide. “No! No, Peter! You said nothing wrong! Everything you said was bloody perfect.” He brushes a stray hair from the boy’s temple forcing it to be with the others. “You’re _perfect_.”

Peter inches forward placing his hands on Killian’s chest tugging at the black hairs. He pulls each short strand one at a time as if to pluck them out. A chuckle escapes the man’s mouth as the boy touches his own chest fingers trying to find any strand of hair to no avail.

He narrows his green orbs, eyebrows furrowing, “One day.” They both stared at each other for a simple second before chortling with laughter.

“God, I love you,” Killian chimes dragging Peter on top. “You’re beautiful and just absolutely perfect. I wish-” he cuts his sentence short and stares at the boy.

He wishes to spend every moment of his future at this boy’s side. He wishes for this boy to hold his heart in his chest and keep it always. He wishes to be as much as this boy’s everything as he is his. He wishes to be with this boy forever.

“Peter?” They’ve been fucking for six years. They’ve been dating for five years. They’ve been open about their relationship for four years. Killian’s been saying ‘I love you’ for three years. They’ve been making love for two years. Peter’s been saying ‘I love you too’ for one year.

But this year he doesn’t want another typical, predictable I love you milestone to pass, he wants something bigger. Right now with this  _perfect_ , _beautiful_  boy lying on his bare chest he knows what he wants. He knows what his wish for this year is.

He bores his sapphire jewels into the boy’s emerald ones, hands caressing hold of his delicate fingers. He bites his lip at first a nervous aura surrounding him. Then with the most desperate plea of passion to ever fill his words he professes—

“Marry me, Peter Pan.”


	3. It's Because I Fucking Love You (MEME)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send “It’s because I fucking love you!” for my character’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ISo sorry if this is crap, I wrote it at like two in the morning and looked over it once a few minutes ago, but Beta hasn’t been online much to look over it so it is unbeataed, therefore I hope you like this and it makes sense.
> 
> Also, it’s from Peter’s point of view which I rarely do, so probably OOC but I try and stay IC best I can. It’s also Modern!AU.

“It’s because I fucking love you!” his voiced boomed. He appeared confident and refined, but that was the illusion. Inside he was panicking. His heart was beating a million miles a minute, his palms were beginning to sweat, and his mouth had gone dry.

This man in front of him made him do this—admit feelings he hadn’t even accepted himself yet. His cerulean eyes stared far too long into his own emerald ones. His voice was soft, but also rough as they argued. He had screamed all the right questions as he picked apart the perfect plan to a perfect game. They just kept piling up higher and higher and higher:

_“Why…? Why…? Why…! Why…!?”_ until he admitted the truth, or what could’ve been the truth. In fact, he was just as shocked as the man before him was they mirrored alike expressions of wide eyes and loose jaws.

“You what?”  _I love you_ ; three easy words blended together to create a powerful sentence. It was kind of like magic in a way. The sentence was capable of healing the beaten and saving the suicidal from the depths of depression, but also mighty enough to bring even the darkest, most vile wretch to their knees—much like him. He was a fragile thing hidden behind twisted smirks and taunting laughter; it was very rare for anyone to ever glimpse at the boy under the mask. (This man had torn his half off when he poked those three damn words from his lips.)

“I didn’t say anything; have you gone mad?” He was being a coward and he knew it. He wanted to run away and hide under a table, behind a trash can, in the alley around the corner. He did not want to stay in this dingy apartment full of hot air, cigarette smoke, and dirty laundry.  He wanted, desired, yearned for a way out—a way to take back his confession and pretend it never happened.

 “Peter, you don’t have to-”

“I didn’t say anything, damn it!”

“Peter-”

“I didn’t say any-fucking-thing, Killian!” He tried to make his voice chorus through the room and reverberate off the walls as it echoed in his ears full of demand, full of integrity; he failed. His tone, though tough and strong, held a slight quiver that shook his syllables just enough for the man to notice.

His stomach was becoming queasy, unsettled; he sensed he might throw up. The organ was twisting in knots, flipping in circles, jumping up and down, a small rumble rippled through his body. He could see stars dancing in his vision as they surrounded the dark haired male with florescent blue eyes. A burn tickled at his throat—a warning.

“Peter, I lov-” and he ran. His feet carrying him hastily away as that morning’s breakfast began to exit his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, comment. I love hearing you guy's thoughts and ideas.


	4. Mean (unprompted)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now do we stay together 'cause we're scared to be alone  
> We got so used to this abuse it kind of feels like home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little scribble I did. I know there are some stray errors throughout so I'm very sorry for those.

Some would say, themselves included, that their relationship was devoid. They loved each other though; they used to tell one another all the time, at least the man of the relationship did. The boy would roll his eyes or return the words cold and unbelieving then blow him off like the ash of his cigarette.

In the beginning, they were like the lovers described in books and movies, cliché. They would hold doors open, kiss in the rain, make love in the light of the sunrise, and so much more. The man would laugh as the boy would let loose his inner child. He’d dance off beat and sing off note, make a pun at every opportunity.

But sometimes the inner child would take over making him proud, selfish and insolent. One moment he would be laughing surrounded by an aura of bliss, the next he would condone screaming matches and throw gadgets and entities to substantiate his point. Sometimes he’d hit the man, slamming his clenched fists onto his chest. Sometimes he’d burned the man, burying his cigarette or joint deep into his skin until the light went out. Sometimes he’d cut the man, opening a switch blade near his face, laughing as beads of blood pooled at the shallow incision.

He’d then take the man for all he’s worth from the top with his legs wide apart straddling his waist. The man would take it as an apology, telling himself pain was just a kink of his. He knew he was lying to himself though, this behavior was manipulative and vindictive—a form of abuse. All in all, he’d take it with an iron fist, because this pain he inflicted was minimal and ever-fading. Yea, he'd remember them for a long while, but why focus on the flashes of bad when the rest of their relationship was good and devoted.

That is what he thought at least, until the night he came home late from an evening out with his friends.

He had found the boy in the process of riding another on the couch. His head was buried deep into the stranger’s throat and his hands were visibly restraining his head back by his hair. The man had left before being spotted and went out for a hook up of his own, making sure hickeys blossomed all over his skin to objectify the boy.

He had returned to the home discombobulated—clothes on backwards, black hair spiking every direction, head pulsing from a hangover. The boy laughed at his appearance comparing him to a wet cat, until a red mark on his exposed hip caught his eye. He ripped away the inside out shirt slapping him when all the blemished came into view.

He screeched, “Cheater! You are a cheater Killian Jones!” The man didn’t take it though. He hollered about the stranger he saw the boy with last night, how he found them on the couch.

“I’m just playing your game, Peter Pan!” The man went on to describe how it was woman he was with, one with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. He told the boy how she tasted of chocolate and cinnamon especially the further south a mouth grazed. He called her the greatest fuck he ever had and the boy slapped him again and  _again_  and  _a g a i n_. Then the man shagged him like the woman.

He threw the boy onto the wrinkled sheets and stood as he fucked him. The boy clamored with each thrust moaning and wailing uncontrollably. He tossed and turned searching for any form of contact to relieve the building friction, until he came with a bloody scream. He convulsed and shuttered with every wave of his orgasm; he groaned and quivered with every moment of his high.

They didn’t touch each other for days after that. The man would try to initiate a form of pleasure through touching, sucking, biting, any way he could, but the boy would push him away with an “I’m too tired,” or an “Another time.” He would peck him on the lips and walk away in search of food or a smoke.

The man took more to drinking by the first week and one afternoon in a drunken haze he bellowed accusations at the boy. He charged him with treachery, implicating that he was cheating on him with many lovers and that’s why he wouldn’t fuck him or touch him.

The boy shouted that it was lie, swore he had only one other lover who he had slept with only three times, and that none of those nights were in the last week. The man scoffed that he was a liar, a deceiver, an emotional manipulator. He slammed the bedroom door in his face forcing the man to sleep on the couch for that night and many others.

By the next week of sleepless nights on the couch and no sexual or physical contact, the man blew up. He blared how the boy needed to grow up and grown a pair, needed to quit acting like an injured dove. The boy kicked him out, and he left, bag packed over his shoulder feet slamming with each stomp toward his car—a “good ridden” shouted at his back.

They didn’t stay apart long, a day or two maybe, before the man returned drenched in rain on the door step. Neither one apologized for their behavior; the effects of sorry had been worn down to mean nothing to them anymore, because this was their life.

Breaking up, getting back together, yelling insults, smacking around, it was their way of showing love. It was abuse, yes, but the kind they would call their second home. It was something they grew to accept over the time of four years. Why else would the one man have returned and the other drag him to the bedroom to take him under the stained sheets? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. This is one of my better one-shots I've written in my opinion and would like to know how you feel about it.


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